


Lapdog

by Leper



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Food Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, References to Illness, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-20 07:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10658196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leper/pseuds/Leper
Summary: Zola should have bled out on the opera house floor, but the kindness of his enemy granted him a second chance at redemption. If a child could be given name and purpose at the start of life, then he supposed a cowardly traitor like him could be baptized through death. (During and post-Birthright.)





	1. Lapdog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’m such a coward.” Had he ever been anyone different? He had survived over others who were more deserving by hiding, lying, and kissing the feet of those stronger than he was._  
>  \-----  
> A stranger to all countries finds himself in the bed of the person he had hurt the most.

 In a past life, he used to be an archduke.

The day after, an exiled transient, then he had played the part of traitor. At the second of his death, he was a beggar. In the darkness, he resembled a scorch mark on her bed, as if some cryptid had been burned up instantly and left only a shadow where he laid.

His sliver of a body stretched out unbelievably long, his pointed fingernails making demon’s claws at his sides. Without his slouch, she couldn’t believe how tall he was (even though he still would have only met her shoulders if both had been standing). The whites in his head shifted, and she puzzled green eyes looking up at her.

“Sorry. I was supposed to be watching you,” she spoke. He had been so still that she almost assumed the worst. “How long have you been awake? N— Never mind. You probably shouldn’t talk.”

The blow had nearly torn him in two from throat to hip. It was as if the flesh touched by her father’s axe had disintegrated upon impact, leaving behind bits of mashed skin and discolored tissue that she couldn’t parse as being from a once whole, functioning human. Her bare footprints had hardened in his blood like a morbid fossil – it was a marvel that such a small man could bleed so much and still be alive, much less conscious.

 “L— Lady Corrin.“ His words held barely any voice. His head shook in her lap, and she wondered how painful it must have felt to draw air into his repaired lungs.

“Shh. You’re going to be okay.” She still couldn’t be sure. With the extent of his wounds, infection seemed certain no matter how many times they cleaned his sutures. “Just go back to sleep, Zola.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She allowed her eyes to sink shut again. “I know.”

“Why?” His wisp of a voice stirred her after an exchange of silence. “W— Why did you—? You didn’t— Y— You shouldn’t have—” Sending their best healer, that little pink-haired mage, to try to save him had undoubtedly placed the rest of the Hoshidans in jeopardy. “I— I didn’t want to. I—“

Corrin’s clawed thumb grazed his lips. He quieted instantly. “I remember you,” she said with a note of realization.

“What?”

“Back in Izumo, you’d asked if I remembered you. At the time, I hadn’t.” Her fingers brushed along his jaw almost tenderly. From that position, she could easily snap his neck, yet the contact wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “But now I do.”

“I don’t underst— stand.” He had been a tangential presence in her life at best. He used to think her some sort of mythical figure, the ghostly second daughter who emerged from her tower only for the rare banquet or execution. He doubted a princess of Nohr (a princess of Hoshido at the moment) would acknowledge a common member of the army she was fighting, much less a pitiful thing like him.

“I’ll tell you a story, okay? You just listen.” Corrin’s gaze stuck to the far wall, trying to make shapes out of distant blurs. He could feel the urgency of her words in her digging touch. “I had a best friend when I was very young. We used to dream about leaving the castle and exploring the world. We snuck out one day. When my father found out, he forbade me from seeing that boy ever again. Day after day, he had one of the servants whip me until I stopped crying over him.”

Zola didn’t speak. Beatings were fait accompli for the children of Nohr, and even the royal children were no exception. He was no stranger to it himself, only the punishments never ceased no matter how many birthdays passed. The principle was that when people touched him, it hurt. Lady Corrin’s warmth felt like a distraction, a lull before the inevitable shock of pain. With her hands lingering so close to his throat, he almost expected her to seize it.

“No one was allowed to see me afterwards. I wasn’t allowed to have friends outside of my retainers. I remember spending those nights feeling like I was the worst child in the world. Why else would Father punish me more than the others? I couldn’t make sense of it. It was lonely.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She peered downwards when she felt Zola trembling again. His eyes tracked her hand as it slowly brushed blond shreds of hair away from his face. He reminded her of a small dog. He even resembled one physically with his slight, curled stature and doleful eyes too big for his face. (Even if she hadn’t expressed this idea aloud, she hoped the comparison wouldn’t be taken in offense.) “Because on one of those nights, I saw a little fox outside my window. He was so unusual and grand. At the time, I had never seen anything like him other than what I had read in books. It took me until recently to realize that what I saw was a Kitsune.”

“Absurd,” replied Zola weakly. “All the way in N— Nohr?”

“It was one of this world’s many creatures that I had wanted to see someday. When I lost my friend, I’d thought it was impossible.” A smile ghosted across Corrin’s lips. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

“W— Why would you think—?”

“I should have recognized those eyes from before. I’m sorry I hadn’t.” Those clever, green eyes had glinted with such understanding at her child self. She had decided to keep his visit a secret from her retainers, even though it seemed a silly reason to not warn others of a potential Hoshidan spy. They probably would have shot poor Zola with arrows until the illusion dissipated or until his corpse slid off the roof. “I saw them again when you begged my father to spare my life. Despite what you did, I— I couldn’t let you die.”

“I don’t understand.” He stiffened. “W— When I was born, no one thought… I should be allowed to live. I— I was a sickly child.” Malformed from bad water, lack of food, disease, poverty. His mother had given birth to an abomination. “S— So my parents t— threw me away. I was despised… e— everywhere I went.” Nothing much had changed. Only now, the ugliness spread deeper than skin, than flesh. His whole being seemed to emanate sickness. “Why did you—?”

Corrin was breathless. “I’m sorry.”

“D— Don’t apologize… to me!” He couldn’t scream without his voice tapering into a pathetic whisper. “I— I just wish someone had told me… it was o— okay for me to be here.”

“Zola.” Corrin perked, straightening her back. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying!” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I have nothing to cry about. N— Nothing!”

“Crying will stifle your recovery. You’ll become distressed and undo all of Sakura’s hard work.” She thumbed away the wetness gathering around his eyes. “I forgive you. So don’t cry.”

He hissed. “I’m such a coward.” Had he ever been anyone different? He had survived over others who were more deserving by hiding, lying, and kissing the feet of those stronger than he was.

“You can change,” she answered. “I know you won’t betray me again. You know what Garon is capable of now.” Most of the soldiers she killed were poor Nohrians who found themselves cowed by her father’s might. She often tormented herself thinking about the thousands who enlisted out of desperation, to escape the miserable poverty that she herself had never touched.

“Lady Corrin.” He rubbed his eyes. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me a— after what I’ve done, but you have my life. I truly swear my loyalty to you and only you. Honest, I do.”

She seemed to smile at this display. “I believe you, but you need to get better first. The war isn’t over, yet.” The Cyrkensia incident troubled the international community. Hoshido found itself facing the same scrutiny their enemies had after Izumo. Zola always seemed to be at the center of international conflicts, yet no one knew who he was. “I’m going to need your help again. So please, sleep.” Just as quickly, she closed her eyes and allowed her body to slump.

“Milady! Y— You’re exhausted.” How long had she been sitting like that, holding his head? “You should rest. T— Think of your health.”

“I’m fine.” Her eyelids flickered. “You’re the one who’s injured. If you hadn’t spoken up for me—“

“I almost got you k— killed.” The admission served as a confession of sorts. Oddly, he felt relief where there should have been shame. “The least I could do is make sure you get enough sleep. Lie down. Please.” He braced himself before pulling away from her lap, allowing the back of his head to drop onto flat mattress. The small movement invited stabs of pain to spill out from his chest. He gasped.

“Try not to move!” She sighed. “I wish I could, but there are things I must do.”

“T— Then you can tell the others I put a sleeping curse on you!” It sounded believable. Currently, he had to be the least liked person among both Nohrians and Hoshidans, second to Garon. He was sure the results would have been skewed in his favor had he included the opinions of neutral nations.

“I can’t do that.” She swung her legs off the side of the bed and propped herself on unsteady feet. “I’ll send one of my most trusted men to watch over you.” She expected late night visits from some of the more disgruntled members of the camp, given the severity of his crimes. “Try to relax.”

“T— Then I’ll place an actual sleeping curse on you!” An empty threat, given that he couldn’t muster enough acuity to light the candle at the far side of the room. He doubted his pig slough of a brain could even remember the proper incantation.

“Zola.” She studied his expression. He frowned slightly as he met her gaze with a wary one of his own, his thin hands curling near his chin as if to catch an attack from the shadows. She sank onto the bed. “Okay. Just for a little while.”

He deflated. “R— Really? You don’t have to!” he insisted.

“I guess a fatigued commander won’t be any good on the battlefield, huh? I was being stubborn.” She perched herself on her side, facing him. A small distance separated the two, yet she was close enough for him to trace the tired lines etched underneath her eyes.

“Maybe I should move,” he suggested with a dry mouth. “P— People might talk if they see you… close to me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She was probably the most talked about person in all the realms by now. No one else could understand why she had chosen to salvage him when it seemed fitting to let the traitor die like a wounded animal. “Goodnight, Zola.”

“Lady Corrin. Please, excuse my— P— Pardon, my liege.”

“What is it, Zola?”

“Um, thank you.” He hesitated. “I owe you my life.” Twice.

Her mouth settled into a drowsy smile. “I’m trusting you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Lady Corrin.”

She was asleep instantly. He laid awake in quiet bewilderment, tuning his rushing thoughts to the ins and outs of her breathing. His promise already felt like a lie. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of protecting even himself, much less another person. But for the first time in his life, he was okay with being afraid.

That night, he dreamt that the seams of his chest came apart. A golden fox pulled itself from his viscera and stood bloodied with its snout in the air, gauging the strange world it had entered. It then lowered its head to lick at his lifeless face, thanking him for his sacrifice, before scampering away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written with the Kitsune!Zola AU in mind. In Conquest Hard mode, Zola has Evenhanded, a skill learned only by Kitsunes. While this is most likely an example of Gameplay and Story Segregation, I thought the idea was interesting so let's run with it.
> 
> The childhood friend Corrin is talking about is Silas, for those of you who haven't read their supports, yet. I like to think that Zola used to eavesdrop on Corrin in the form of animals, which is why she couldn't remember him.


	2. The Necromancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He ate only enough to not die. Slept only enough to avoid having his throat cut while his eyes were closed. Every task necessary for his existence, he performed the bare minimum to avoid dying or being killed. He couldn’t remember the last time his stomach had felt full._  
>  \-----  
> Zola adjusts to being alive.

A prototypical sorcerer consisted of hip bones, collarbones, shin bones, cheekbones, narrow pelvis, knobby joints, lack of appropriate vertebrae, and long fingernails. (He supposed all the effort the body put into maintaining a proper skeleton was transferred to their fingertips.) In a way, Nohrian mages were like the elixirs they brewed or a bad cut of meat: all bone and cartilage.

“We could go to my room, if that would be more comfortable for you.” Corrin’s eyes shot up from an emptied plate. “I understand if you’re nervous about eating here.”

“Nervous? Why would I be nervous?” Zola mustered an expression akin to a smile.

“They won’t hate you forever. Promise.” Though, the volume inside the mess hall experienced a suspicious drop when they had entered. Takumi sprang up and left just as quickly, that morning’s runny egg left coagulating on his rice.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting with your friends?” The quiet reminded him of meals at Ft. Rina, Castle Krakenburg’s onsite training camp. He had always found eating to be a thoroughly miserable affair – a Nohrian table left its diners thinking about how little food there actually was or how much more their neighbors had to eat.

“You are my friend.” Her cheeks heated when Zola caught her eyeing his single cup of coffee. “I thought you might enjoy a Nohrian dish.” The dark slab of rye bread with butter fossilized on his plate. “You don’t like the food?”

“N— No, I’m grateful for every scrap of food you give to this lowly servant, Lady Corrin. Why don’t you have it? Please, I insist.”

“I think I’ve eaten more than half of your meals from the past two weeks, Zola.” When was the last time she had seen the man hold a fork? “If you’re allergic to certain ingredients, our chef would gla—“

“It’s not that.” He grimaced. His skin stretched taut over his face, revealing the whites of his cheekbones where a natural blush should have been. “You shouldn’t concern yourself over me, my liege.”

“Are you afraid of being poisoned, then?” She’d hate to think he was purposefully allowing her to sample from his plate if that were the reason. “You’re really skinny.” A statement devoid of flattery. During his weeks-long bedrest, Zola had fasted like a martyr. If she pinched his shred of a waist, he might snap like a picked flower.

“Did you really have to point that out?” He hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror lately. When he did, it was usually through another person’s eyes at another person’s face. He doubted anyone would want to see his increasingly skeletal body reflected in the glass, a living memento mori. “I thought that was obvious.”

“I’m worried. If you’re struggling with something, I want to know. You’re a part of this army now. If you suffer, I’ll suffer alongside you.” It felt selfish of her to say that when she had never been awoken by hunger pangs before. She wondered how many parents in Nohr starved so that their children would have food in their stomachs. Perhaps he had been doing the same for her? “We have plenty of food in camp. You don’t ha—”

“I— I don’t like food. Sorry.”

“What? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She knitted her brows in concern. She had never met a Nohrian who would refuse a free meal. It seemed like Zola had a new quirk to reveal to her each day.

“W— Well, I personally can’t see the appeal of eating. That’s just me, though! Feel free to ignore my inane ramblings, please.” Nothing else forced sweaty, agitated soldiers together in a cramped space like mealtimes. He supposed there was charm in experiencing depression as a group, similarly to how people might spend money to see a play with a downer ending.

“You need food to live, Zola. You’ve barely been eating since…” She smiled so openly, he noticed. “How about we find a way to make food interesting for you?”

“And how would y—? L— Lady Corrin, please!” The color returned to his face. “I’m older than you are. I’m p— perfectly capable of feeding myself.” A twitch at the back of his neck confirmed that her siblings were surveilling him. He suddenly fancied the idea of turning into a lizard and burying himself in dirt.

She ground the bread against his lips. “Then show me. I don’t want to have to get the funnel.”

“Y— You’re not serious about that, right? My liege?” Zola laughed uneasily, craning his head back as if a sword had been pointed at him instead. “I don’t think I could finish it, anyway. It’d be a waste, d— don’t you think?”

“I was joking, Zola.” She felt sorry for him in the same way a person might pity a dog afraid of the wind. “I think I have a solution.” She reeled the bread to her own mouth and bit down before offering it to him again.

He stared. “You want me to—? But you just— Your mouth touched it!”

“I’m not diseased.” She sounded too sincere. “I figured this way, you can still eat and finish your meal. I take a bite, then you take one.”

He had nearly forgotten he was speaking to a dragon. “Lady Corrin, perhaps you’re not aware… This is highly inappropriate for a princess.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She slid the crust past his lips. His teeth fit poorly in the inhumanly wide arc that she had left. “Mmm?” Corrin waited.

The dried bread crunched loudly between his molars. He brought his face away and chewed slowly, his chin tucked to his chest as he tried to curl into himself. The remaining bread seemed to ricochet between their lips, shrinking until Corrin popped the last piece into her mouth and smiled. “See? It worked! You look healthier already!”

Zola shivered. “Y— Yes, thank you. You are most generous, Lady Corrin.” He tried not to sound too grateful, or else the other Hoshidan royals might think that he enjoyed it. “But i— if it’s not too much of an inconvenience, I think I’d like to feed myself in the future.”

“It’s no problem. Glad I could help.” She eased the cup out of his clawed hand and pilfered a sip of lukewarm coffee. “We can still eat together, right?”

“Of course! It’s not like I have anyone else.” He didn’t mean to sound so pathetic. “Anyone else to eat with, I mean.”

“Are we still going to sleep together?”

“S— Sleep in the same room, she means!” Zola’s head darted before he centered his gaze on Corrin’s face. As always, she appeared deadpan. Perhaps it was the dragon’s blood in her veins which made her so self-assured. “Since I am in fairer condition, I propose that it is time I move out of the treehouse.”

“Why? I like having you as my roommate.” She’d never had to share her room with anyone else before, not even her sisters in Nohr. The lack of privacy that came with a spacious room and a single bed – it was fascinating. “If you’re still embarrassed about that time I walked in—”

“No, it’s not that.” He pitched his voice to a whisper. “B— But please refrain from mentioning that, too. Anyway, we really should move this conversation to somewhere more private, i— if you’d like.” The Hoshidans were nearly leaning on top of him.

She set his coffee down and pulled herself up from the table. “All right, we’ll go to our room.”

“Your room, my liege,” corrected Zola. He was nearly pressed to her back as they exited the mess tent, his long fingers weaving and unweaving at his scarred chest. The rumble of speculation faded behind them as they trekked through the camp’s main thoroughfare, ribboned with fledgling storefronts and the horse-drawn caravans of transient showmen. His pale eyes still watered at the Hoshidan skyline, and he squinted to keep the light from hurting his brain. “You’ve been endlessly kind to me, Lady Corrin. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

It wasn’t just the initial act of sewing him back together and making sure he didn’t pass from sickness. She ate all her meals with him and idled away her free time reading to him. He had fallen asleep with the shape of her face imprinted behind his eyelids and the sound of her voice invading his dream-distorted thoughts. ( _“Are you awake, Zola?”_ ) He hadn’t expected her, of all people, to care for him in the slightest; and if no one cared, he would have surely let himself slip away that first night.

“What’s wrong?” Her slit eyes regarded him with disappointment.

He was used to people looking at him like that, but he still had to turn his head away. “People talk. I don’t care what they say about me…” Nothing positive, as expected of a habitual turncoat from Nohr. “But I won’t have anyone speaking ill of you, my liege! Especially b— because of me.”

“I don’t care about rumors. My army will accept all those who strive for peace, regardless of their past or background. There are people here who have committed graver sins than you have, I’m sure.” She had proven herself to be a bad judge of character too many times for a leader, but being betrayed was worth changing the heart of even just one person.

“Lady Corrin.” He swallowed. “I’m asking you, as your…” He debated with himself. “…your loyal subject. It is in your best interests to keep your distance from me.” He imagined that the other Nohrian soldiers celebrated the disappearance of the army’s snitch.

“Are you no longer interested in serving me?”

“N— No, I still intend to repay the mercy you’ve shown me. Really.” Her doubt didn’t surprise him, but his scar stung hot at her question. “But I can do it from far away.” His specialty.

She was unblinking. “Are you afraid of me, Zola?”

Her look was so earnest. He sighed. “I’m not the kind of man who can keep friends. Sorry.” They were getting too close. He had to plan ahead for when he’d inevitably lose his courage and end up disappointing her. “You can’t keep t— t— taking care of me, anyway.”

“If that’s how you truly feel… I’ll have somebody set you up in the barracks.” She caught sight of his doe stare and tried to smile. “You’re welcome at the room anytime, you know. If anyone gives you trouble, you tell me, okay?”

Zola gave a stiff nod. He still couldn’t look at her. “Yes, I’ll do my best for you. There’s just one more thing I have to mention if it wouldn’t take up too much of your time.”

“Is the uniform comfortable for you?” His clothing had been gnarled like the rest of him when he first arrived at the camp’s medical bay. The tight sleeves of the Hoshidan diviner’s uniform had flustered him at first, but she supposed it was an improvement from the notoriously risqué design of Nohr’s mage robes. The camp’s resident seamstress, Oboro, had managed to salvage his distinctive fool’s cap at least – he tended to rake his long fingernails over its tail when anxious, as if it were an albino mink hanging over his shoulder.

“It’s a little loose, but never mind that! I’d like to talk about— My name is ‘Zoh-luh’, not ‘Zah-luh’. Sharp O.” She’d been mispronouncing his name for a full month, not that he could blame her. It was a special occasion for someone to remember him more than his illusions. “I just wanted to let you know. B— But of course, you can call me whatever pleases you.”

Corrin went red. “Oh, I— I’m sorry! Everyone in camp’s been messing up your name this whole time. ‘Zoh-luh.’” A name that meant “earth”, an unusual choice in a country where the dead ground produced nothing but eye-watering miasma. “I’ll be sure to tell the others. Is that all, Zo?”

Zo. _Is she calling me that now?_ “Yes. My sincerest thanks. I— I apologize if I spoke too much.” The last time he did, he was answered by an axe.

“It’s nothing.” She’d tell him not to apologize so much, but then he might reply with another sorry. “I’ve got to head to another war council meeting, but someone will come escort you to the barracks. Remember to eat, okay?”

“I will.” He answered quietly.

“See you, Zo.” She raised her arm in a brief wave before treading off in the direction of the camp’s library. Once, she slowed to look over her shoulder.

He stood in the same place next to her footprints, his shadow shrinking as the distance between them widened. “Goodbye, Lady Corrin.”

In Nohr, the fear of death had been his excuse for living. It struck him as ironic how little he actually cared for himself when all he could think about was his survival – he ate only enough to not die. Slept only enough to avoid having his throat cut while his eyes were closed. Every task necessary for his existence, he performed the bare minimum to avoid dying or being killed. He couldn’t remember the last time his stomach had felt full.

He couldn’t be just bones, anymore. There had to be more inside him now, something that was keeping him standing and alive. It was almost as if he were dying in reverse, a skeleton gaining flesh until it was a real person again.

_Lady Corrin is a necromancer_ , he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just passed the one-year anniversary of when I was diagnosed with Stevens-Johnson disorder. A year ago, my doctor told me I had a 55% chance of dying at twenty-two-years-old. The residual effects of the illness caused me to develop lesions on a majority of my body; and for a while, I really was a leper.
> 
> Unfortunately, it's still a trend for writers to emphasize a character's evil by giving them an obvious disease, since beauty/health equates to goodness. So when I saw a little mage who was depicted as being "deformed" and scared and struggling with making the right choices, I felt sympathy for him because I can relate to that feeling of hopelessness.
> 
> For anyone going through a similar situation, I'd like you to continue living even if it's for a trivial reason like waiting for the next release of your favorite video game series or a new chapter for a fanfiction you like. For now, live just for the chance to experience happiness. 
> 
> My motto is, "Failure isn't failure unless you're dead (and even then, it might just be a Thanatos Gambit)."


End file.
